


No Shining Armor

by Trashy_the_Trashman



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Also a big ol' middle finger to Zote, Bretta you deserved so much better, I also tried to keep the Knight genderless, Other, Romance, Shipping, Silent Protagonist, Since that's basically canon (I think...?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 20:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15893832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashy_the_Trashman/pseuds/Trashy_the_Trashman
Summary: Her White Knight is a monster. Her Grey Prince is a fraud. Bretta sets off alone to find her love.





	No Shining Armor

Pale ash fluttered on the wind. It fell in abundance here, at the Kingdom’s Edge, piling into great, haunted white dunes. In a way, Bretta supposed, it was beautiful. Watching the ash almost let her see the shape of the wind. But she couldn’t forget the danger of being here. This was a lawless place, wild even in the glory days of Hallownest. A bug would only come here if they had nowhere else to go.

And so she had come.

Bretta trudged through the ash, trying to stay alert for any danger. The roaring wind sent stalactites plummeting down without warning. The ground gave way to enormous, plummeting cliffs, hidden in the ash. And beasts—bugs twisted and tormented by madness—prowled these wastes. It was desolation. But Bretta believed that if there were anywhere she could begin again, it was here.

But the wind was just so cold…

 

Bretta’s life had not been a kind one. At least, the parts she could remember hadn’t been. Before a certain point, everything just seemed a confused jumble. She could recall little flashes, little phrases and moments, but that was all.

She’d always been a dreamer, always loved stories. She could remember someone (Her father? A teacher?) telling her to stop her constant daydreaming, but she never had. She was a quiet bug, always willing to let someone else take the spotlight. It was okay being forgotten, she remembered telling herself, as long as she had her stories.

But… something happened. What was it? Her mind seemed to resist the details. She’d gone deep underground, deep into Hallownest. Others had been with her. Were the friends? Family? She couldn’t recall. Someone had said something about an infection, and she remembered being quite afraid. She’d never been sickly, but something about the word ‘infection’ had sent a chill down her shell.

And then, wandering down in the darkness, she remembered suddenly being alone. Whoever had been with her was gone. Perhaps they had just been separated, but Bretta suspected that, as had happened so often before, she had been forgotten. They’d left her down there, in the dark.

 

_The maiden had been abandoned, left to cry in the heart of the earth. No one would see her tears, would see her stumble through those echoing halls. She clung to that last, desperate hope that a hero would arrive, but her mind had already begun to fade. A faint orange light was clouding her eyes…_

Bretta shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to think about things like that. She shivered. This place was bare, open to the elements. She had to find shelter, even if just for the night. She peered about the wide chasm until at last she spotted a small enclosure, almost completely hidden behind a mound of ash. She kept walking, hugging her claws close to herself.

 

Something else had happened. Just when she thought she was doomed to wander endlessly, just when that radiant orange light was filling her mind, there came another light. Someone—or something—had come for her. They had a pure white mask, one that seemed to shine brilliantly. They weren’t radiant, they were luminous: a light that wasn’t fiery or grand, but serene and comforting.

It was her White Knight, come to save her.

She could remember the awe she’d felt, the blush that had warmed her face. This savior was just so… perfect, so graceful and kind. They hadn’t said a word, but the fact that they’d come to save her was proof enough of their heroism. They’d looked at her expectantly through the dark eyeholes of their mask, as though beckoning her to come along. But she’d been too embarrassed, too shy. She said she could make it to Dirtmouth on her own.

And to her credit, she had. Emboldened by her White Knight and determined to see them again, she’d managed to climb her way out of the depths of Hallownest and once again see the surface. But her time deep in the earth had left her memory a blur, and few seemed to remember her. Was this where she’d lived? She had a house here, but everything seemed so foggy.

Nevertheless, she tried to return to normal life. The town’s elder, one of the only to remember Bretta, encouraged her to meet the new bugs in town. Iselda, a merchant, was more than happy to chat with her. Another, named Sly, was a little more cryptic but still willing to lend a helping claw. But one stood out in. Her savior, her White Knight, regularly came through town.

Bretta tried to learn more about them. She asked the Elderbug who they were, what they were trying to do. The Elderbug just shrugged. He’d seen this traveller many times, apparently having trekked all throughout Hallownest. But what they wanted—what their goal was, if any—was a mystery. They never said a word.

 

_Day in and day out, the maiden pined. Her hero was so close, and yet so far. She had at last found safety, but what good was that with no meaning to her life? Her protector had rescued her, true, but did they want what she wanted? Was there space in that dark and mysterious heart for love?_

Again, Bretta found her mind straying to story, as though this were all just a grand tale to be read in a book. But some things just weren’t meant to be, she supposed. Stories were all well and good but tugging at one’s heartstrings was just cruel.

She sidled around the wall of ash and into the cave beyond. It was in the nick of time. Just as she was getting settled, she could hear the sounds of some creature thrashing through the ash outside. Had she been followed? Was she, unknowingly, seconds away from being devoured? She tried not to make a sound, nestled in this small cave.

It was still cold here, amid these walls of stone. The wind howled savagely outside, the roar of untamed nature. This was a place unlike any she’d seen before, a place where the elements ran wild. No one lived here. This was a place not to be settled, only endured.

         

As time passed and her yearning grew stronger, Bretta tried to surreptitiously ask Iselda for advice about speaking to others. The bug, normally a touch cynical, gave Bretta a covert smile.

“It’s about that traveller, isn’t it?” she asked.

“N-no!” answered Bretta, fretting with her claws. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind talking to them, of course. Why? Did they… say something about me…?”

“I’ve actually never heard them speak at all,” admitted Iselda, and Bretta sighed. “But you should make chances for yourself, if that’s something you’d like. I see them sitting on the bench in the middle of town all the time. Why not have a seat there and see if they come by?”

“I… I think that’s a good idea,” said Bretta, and soon after she nervously settled down on that small bench. She did her best to leave space—she didn’t want her protector to think she’d taken up the whole thing. And then she waited.

As she did, her nerves crept up on her. What if her White Knight didn’t care for company? After all, they’d never spoken to anyone in town. Or what if they were ruthless, so taken by the violence that had swallowed up Hallownest that they thought all bugs beneath them? Or worst of all, what if they just never came back? What if this last venture down had been their last, before Bretta could even talk to them?

She was so consumed by her thoughts that she didn’t notice her White Knight walk up and take a seat beside her until the bench squeaked a little. Bretta froze, fear seizing her entirely. What should she say? Should she thank them? Should she strike up a normal conversation? Should she praise their skill for surviving so long, tell them just how strong she thought they were? It had only been a moment, but her face was already aglow with blush.

But as Bretta struggled to think of just what to say, something else was happening. Her White Knight slowly slackened, resting fully on the bench until their head began to tilt forward a little. Their breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in gentle motions. At last, their balance shifted, and they were leaning on her. They had fallen asleep on her shoulder. Their adventures must have exhausted them.

Bretta was jubilant, and expressed this by staying absolutely, perfectly, utterly still. She didn’t want to rouse her savior. Feeling them resting against her, barely hearing their breath above the wind, was the sort of comfort she’d hoped to provide. She thought about holding their claw in her own but stopped just short for fear of disturbing them. Despite this and though her memory had been blurred, Bretta was certain that this was the happiest moment of her life.

So why, then, when the White Knight awoke did they say nothing? They just gave her a long look through that mask, then hopped off the bench and back to the haunted depths of Hallownest? She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. She had wanted romance. She had wanted companionship. She had wanted someone who wouldn’t leave her behind.

_Though her heart was wounded, the maiden held out hope for her savior. Love took time, this was true. Her protector was valiant and noble, and for one so devoted to duty it would be hard to let in passion. She would wait. Anything would be worth the effort to have her knight by her side._

Bretta was still huddled up in her small cave, though some of her anxiety had passed. The wind had calmed somewhat, though it still sounded low and mournful as it swept past the mouth of the cave. Little flakes of ash drifted in over the pile. She should have thought to bring a blanket.

Where she would go next, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t stay here, that much was obvious. Once she’d heard tell that there was a colosseum in this region, but that would be of no interest to her. The bugs who dwelled there knew only blood and blade. There would be no love in that place.

She would try and travel farther, then. She would journey outside of Hallownest, to the places beyond where no bug had ventured. There must be other lands out there, somewhere. There must be places where bugs thrived, where they knew the value of romance. It sounded like the madness of a dream-drunk hatchling, but to Bretta, there was simply no other reason to live.

She tried and failed to stifle a yawn as she leaned against the cave wall. It was cold but sleep still seemed so nice. The white ash was dancing so peacefully on the wind outside. Her eyes began to close…

         

Her savior would return, and sometimes would even sit next to her on that lonely bench in town. Every time, Bretta hoped they would say something, that they would show some sign of their affection. It never happened.

And then someone new arrived. He was bold, a champion covered in scars. He was Zote the Mighty, slayer of demons, a grey prince and a true paragon. He spoke freely of his exploits in town, of his victories and accolades. And to Bretta’s horror, he spoke of a white demon.

Her savior—the one who had found her down in the Fungal Wastes, had rescued her when all others had abandoned her—was nothing more than a craven beast. They attacked the weak and stole what little they had, picked upon those who could least protect themselves.

“If you ask me,” said Zote, as Bretta listened with tears glistening in her eyes, “there is no more wretched being in Hallownest than that _freak_. Even I, Zote the Mighty, barely fought off their surprise attack. Were I not the strongest bug of all, armed with the peerless nail Life Ender, I would surely have been cut to ribbons by that beast.”

So that was that. The one Bretta had thought to be her true love was nothing more than a scavenger, a heartless monster. How could she not have seen that? Perhaps when they first met in the depths of Hallownest, when they had first looked at her through that cold mask, they were thinking of slaying her.

And the wordlessness? The silence? Of course that white demon would distance themselves. They might be planning to slaughter the entire town at any moment. Even the rest they’d taken on Bretta’s shoulder now seemed so vile. Had they just seen her as a pillow? As an object to lean against? She felt so foolish.

But at least now she had a real hero. This bug, Zote the Mighty, was exactly what she had been looking for. He was fearless, always ready to plunge into the heart of danger. He was wise, having mastered a set of precepts of his own devising. And he was well-spoken, going on for hours at a time on great, winding tales of his exploits. Bretta was enraptured.

It didn’t take long for her to notice flaws within Zote, however. His nail was oddly dull and dusty for one so accomplished. His cloak was tattered and stained, and for all his talk of grace and power, he stumbled as he walked.

Worst of all was the way he spoke. His stories, so illustrious and triumphant at first, seemed to contradict each other. Tales of how he’d gotten one scar became the tale for another. He forgot which beasts he’d slayed. His precepts made no sense. And he never, never seemed to care what anyone else had to say. At the end of one exhaustingly long tale, Bretta finally got up the nerve to ask a question.

“Do you… remember my name?” she asked. Zote scoffed.

“Why would I do that?” he asked. And that was that. Bretta could feel her heart aching. Not once, but twice had these last bastions of heroism revealed themselves to be false. One a monster, and one a lout. She was so embarrassed to have been taken in not once, but twice. Why had she even returned to this town? Was she destined to be humiliated by everyone who tempted her heart?

And so she made up her mind. She would leave this town behind and search for love herself. It would be treacherous, perhaps even suicidal. But so be it. She was quiet, and she loved stories, but she would stop at nothing to make her own tale come true. She’d set off from Dirtmouth without a word to anyone else, determined not to look back.

Now she slept. Now the ash of the Kingdom’s Edge swept about, and the cold of the cavern was upon her. But she dreamed. She dreamed of being loved. She dreamed of someone who would appreciate her, would never leave her behind. Bretta shivered in her sleep.

 

*          *          *

 

She didn’t know how long she slept. When at last she woke, Bretta was lying on her side, face resting against one claw. The cave was still cold, but it was now perhaps a little warmer where she’d been resting. She slowly opened her eyes.

Sitting on the cave floor next to her was the last bug she would have expected. It was the one who had found her down in the depths, the one she had thought was her White Knight. She knew better now, though. She knew they were a fraud and a monster.

But something was different. They looked… smaller, and they shivered every now and again. Where was that cloak they always wore, the one Bretta had thought looked so regal as they came and went? She tilted her head—slowly and carefully, she didn’t want to alert them just yet—to look around the cave.

There it was. Not on the floor or otherwise removed for comfort. They’d draped it over Bretta’s sleeping form like a small blanket. They’d even tucked it around her shell. It was far too small to cover her entirely and wasn’t quite warm enough to be a real blanket, but the gesture said it all.

The Knight—not the White Knight, not the romanticized being of her fantasies—was staring out into the ash. The dune of it outside the cave’s mouth meant that only someone looking closely would have found it. If the cape were not proof enough, this was. The Knight had been looking for her.

Something was stirring within Bretta. Shame? Fear? Desperation? It was a strange feeling, and not a good one. Had she really believed that the bug who had saved her could be so ruthless, so cold-hearted? She didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. But there was still a matter that needed to be settled before anything else.

“You…” she said weakly, and the Knight turned their head and cocked it a little. “You don’t really… use words, do you…?” The Knight didn’t reply. They slowly turned their head away, and their mask tilted down just a little. They weren’t shivering, but Bretta could see their shoulders slump.

“I understand,” said Bretta. She tried to choose her next words carefully. She was still anxious, but maybe… maybe there was hope. “But… even if you don’t have words, is there something you want to tell me…?”

The Knight seemed to consider this. The eyes of their mask were on the cave floor, and they sat perfectly still. At last, the mask turned, and with it came other motion. With all the care they had, with all the gentleness and softness in the world, they placed their claw in Bretta’s and held it.

And that was when Bretta knew that her Knight had no spectacular poetry, no legendary status, no shining armor, but they would be hers forever. Tears formed in her eyes. Her face was once more aglow as she blushed. The wind still howled and the ash still blew, but here, in this small cave, the two lovers were at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! This was my first attempt ever at writing fic that wasn't smut! How about that?
> 
> So this is unabashed wish fulfillment, but hey, sometimes we need that! I was super bummed when Bretta left during the Grimm Troupe, and even more bummed when she didn't appear at all during Godmaster. So here it is! A little light and fluff to make things better.
> 
> It's pretty short, but I didn't want to drag it out (and by extension, make Bretta suffer more, poor thing). Still, I hope you enjoyed! I always love feedback, if you've got it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
